General Knowledge

He noticed the child working on his homework. He walked by and asked the child "What are you working on?" The child, without stopping work, responded "maths". He asked the child "so who is the President of India?" The child lifted his head and looked at him. His expression had a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. The child went back to his to work without responding. Offended, he persisted "come on! Tell me! Who is the President of India?" The child looked up. He responded in a tone dripping with sarcasm "I have no idea who the President of India is. I know that Trump is the President of US and Obama was the previous one." He went back to his work and ignored the existence of the smart aleck.

I don't understand the Indian obsession with those two letters G and K, which together is considered acronym for General Knowledge. Through my growing years I witnessed the demand to remember the capitals of countries, its currencies and presidents and/or prime ministers. Remember who was awarded when with what, who took birth or died when, who invented this or that. I don't get it! What is the point of remembering all this. Did the fools not know that Google and Wikipedia were round the corner? I remember that annoying book "Wisdom" that children had to go through periodically to improve GK and hence become intelligent. Why!

I remember all the controversy surrounding the election of the current President but don't remember his name. Recently, someone reminded me of his name but in a matter of days the name has walked out of my head. So what! I have not become dumber than I was earlier.

I wish I was not born a human. We waste a lot of time remembering irrelevant information. Time that we could have put to use by staring at that ant scampering around in search of food for the winter.

Cheap reminders

It is quite embarrassing to remind people about something. Especially when that something consists of chocolates brought in from the US. Its quite cheap and I believe one should not stoop down to that level. I also believe stooping down to that level helps a person in being grounded. When one feels tall enough to head a cloud, stooping down to the cheaper depths helps. It enables one to see the ground and not trip on one of the stones life chucks onto one's path. So I decided to be cheap and remind someone to bring chocolates. But to salvage some pride, I employed the following rhyme-crime as a reminder.

Have you heard of a tale so cool

About a happening in a school

With a bird residing in a tree

Giving reminders to all for free

It has been obsessed of late

To beak in an American chocolate

So I humbly request you to remember

Chocolates for that poor feathered member

At a tea shop...

He always loved to put in more meanings to his words than one. He had developed notoriety for his puns too. Everyone looked at his utterances with suspicion. It had got to a state that even his compliments were looked at cynically. Ironically, everyone considered him cynical. Of course, the reputation got to his head. Every time he spoke he tried to bring in all the clever constructs available to humanity. They complicated his thoughts and he ended up uttering things that even he did not understand. Even a simple thought like "It is a beautiful day" was analysed with misgivings. Life was getting complicated. But he loved the situation. He believed that he was helping people think, even when did not have to. He believed that the using of grey cells would help people keep Alzheimer away.

As one turns from Wallajah road to Triplicane high road, one is hit by the shock of the traffic. Shops thickly lined the two sides. A row of two wheelers were parked haphazardly on both the sides of the road. Authorities were unsuccessful in determining the locations of the sidewalks that existed on their plans. The walkers did not need the sidewalks; they considered themselves to be a part of the traffic and used the road. They weaved in and out of the traffic like an autorickshaw. Everything that seemed wrong elsewhere seemed right on Triplicane high road - the  road was plucked out of a 1980's R K Laxman cartoon.

Among the shops selling cloths, dry fruits and other whatevers existed the "Babylon Cafe". Ah! That reminds me. A few years ago, he visited the city of Raipur in Chhattisgarh. These were the early days of the Five star hotels in the city. Hyatt had just come up and a Taj existed somewhere on the periphery. But people of the city swore by their favourite hotel, Babylon. But they did not pronounce Babylon as Babylon like in the song "By the rivers of Babylon". Instead they pronounced it as baby-lone. This pronunciation annoyed him and he tried to correct people but to no effect. They continued to call the hotel baby-lone. "Maybe there is a reason for it to be called so" was his conclusion.

Babylon cafe looked bright and new among the shops that were gnarled with age. The light coloured sunmica beckoned one and all. As in all tea shops, the owner sat at the entrance surrounded by bottles of cakes and cookies. He welcomed one and all with a friendly though smile-less nod. The insides of the shop had two tables with four chairs each. The tea making took place at the other end of the shop. The summer heat seemed preferable compared to the heat inside. Yet people sat chatting in the shop for many minutes sipping their hot tea.

He bit a piece of the cake, which should ideally be referred to as "delicious cake". She nibbled the edges of a saltier than sugary butter biscuit. From time to time, they sipped the light coloured liquid that was referred to as tea at the Babylon café. He loved his tea strong with a little milk and a good amount of sugar. He was averse to the concept of ginger tea and masala tea. He believed a tea should only contain tea and no other supplements. The only acceptable compromise was cardamom. He loved the sugary, milky and cardomomed tea. He attributed the reason for this peculiar inconsistency to the fact that he treated cardomom tea (or elaichi chai) as a variety of payasam and not tea at all. The tea at Babylon café was one of the finest specimen of tea flavoured payasam. 

He turned around and asked the owner to pass a few samosas. Not the humongous shit-shaped North Indian samosas but the small triangular South Indian ones that Chennaites lovingly referred to as samsa. Four tiny samosas landed on their table. He picked one up and looked appreciatively at its shape. She looked at the plate and its content with suspicion. He coaxed her to try one but she hesitated. She swiped the oil off one of the samosas and looked it with disgust. He was offended by her action and expression. He said with mock concern  "Oh, I forgot! You have just returned from Germany."

The next day at around the same time, they found themselves in similar circumstances; except for the absence of the triangular samosas, which  did not live up to the high standards Chennaites demanded.  She said in a worried voice "Last evening, I wondered for a long time about what you said. You know, that Germany thing? I thought hard to find what you meant by it. Sometimes I am so ashamed at my slowness. It took a full 30 minutes for me to realize that you were referring to germ-many and not to Germany. I am terrible."

He stopped munching his cake and looked at her incredulously. His lips froze at a grimace. Only for a moment though. The grimace turned into an arrogant smile as he continued munching his cake.

Brainwaves

Tea was disappearing quickly from the glass in my hands. It was not the usual sweet milky liquid but the sweet, dark and lemony one. A leaf of mint lay dead at the bottom of the glass. I sipped the tea as I listened to the conversation being tossed around in the group. As is usual among people who consider themselves intelligent, the group was theorizing and philosophizing on one topic after other. From time to time, I threw in an intelligent thought and then went back to watching the vehicles zipping past. 

Vehicles don't fascinate me. When I consider buying a car, I look at the dashboard and the music system rather than the other parts. At best I will check the colour of the car and its tyres. The engine with its HP And Dell don't interest me! So I was not studying the make of the vehicles per se. I was evaluating the compatibility of a vehicle with its owner. I hear you ask "how the hell do you do that?" and I respond "I do it the way I do it. What is it to you?" At times, I tried guessing the mood of the persons traveling in the vehicle. This guessing game is more interesting than it sounds; you should try it sometime.

The thought struck me when I saw a lady driving a Jeep Compass. It came in as a "What will you call a Jeep being driven by a lady?" Almost instantly, I heard the response from the other side of my brain "Sheep". I was astounded by the thought and shared it instantly with my group. They gave me a look that made me feel sheepish. The crow sitting on the tree was not that forgiving. It dropped a load of its dropping on my head. 

All in a day's work...

A horoscope entry throws up the line "You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep other people warm". I feel the warmth of these words.

For another write-up I searched the Internet for quotes on truth. Found some interesting ones and decided none of them reached the depths of my stagnant thoughts. But some of them are interesting enough to be placed in a safe for the future.

"If you want to be thought a liar, always tell the truth" - Logan Pearsall Smith

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple"- Oscar Wilde

"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything" - Mark Twain

"I never did give anybody hell. I just told the truth and they thought it was hell." - Harry S Truman

"A lie told often enough becomes the truth." - Vladimir Lenin,  Russian communist revolutionary, politician and political theorist.

Once I saw the following one, I scrolled down no more.

"There are no facts, only interpretations" - Friedrich Nietzsche

A feeling of jealousy creeps into me as I watch the entertaining events unfolding in the state of Karnataka. Though Tamilnadu has its own share of entertainers, the current scenario in Karnataka promises much entertainment in the coming years. The fun part is that the three people in the fray all have shady pasts and to choose one shady out of these is a challenge. Ultimately, the real shady has come to the forefront. As Eminem prophesied 18 years ago,

May I have your attention please?

May I have your attention please?

Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?

I repeat will the real Slim Shady please stand up?

We're going to have a problem here

...

'Cause I'm Slim Shady, yes I'm the real Shady

All you other Slim Shadys are just imitating

So won't the real Slim Shady, please stand up,

Please stand up,

Please stand up

'Cause I'm Slim Shady, yes I'm the real Shady

All you other Slim Shadys are just imitating

So won't the real Slim Shady, please stand up,

Please stand up,

Please stand up

Imagine the CM designate of the state singing these lines. That's entertainment, buddy!

Sometimes life goes along well, in a straight line. Of course, if you look close enough, you will realize it is not straight at all. There are ups and downs and lefts and rights. But it is best not to inspect the line that close. Let us move up till we see it as a straight line. Out of the blue, the line goes haywire. It goes everywhere and regardless of the height you rise to, it does not look straight. Many of your thoughts and beliefs are shaken. You have no choice but to reevaluate the line. One part of you wants to forget and go back to the apparent straightness but you remind yourself of the line-shattering event and ensure you don't go back to the apparent straightness. The line will get back to its desired state of apparent straightness again but the randomness brought by the event can never be erased. Life goes one but it is not the same life as earlier.

It's a boon that we work. Work makes us forget, the people and event we should not remember. Though not true always, work has little emotion involved. If it has to be done, it has to be done. It does not matter whether you hate it or like it. You can crib your head about it later but when it has to be, it has to be done. At the end of a focused effort, the satisfaction you get looking back at the results is incomparable. It is the only aspect of our life, that gives back what we expect, that is assuming you expectations don't touch the moon. 

Fingers of life

It went on and on and on
I was tired as it went on and on and on
I looked around
And saw her raise a finger at me
Not Thumb
Not little
Not index
Not ring
Up for split of a second
My face drowned in shock
Searched surrounding faces
No shock; none at all
I looked back
Hands lay on her lap
Same finger moving back and forth
I looked at her face
A stifled smile
I turned my sight away

A noisy place
She said something
I said something
No idea what
But she thought she knew
All hell broke lose
How could you?
Unacceptable behaviour!
I tried assuaging
But of no avail
In my head, that finger went up
Not Thumb
Not little
Not index
Not ring

Lets end it here.

Dirty old man

I am reminded of the song Mean Mr.Mustard today, especially the end that goes Such a dirty old man.

The song and the day reminds me of The Ode to dirty old men by Crawson Croody.

You should know, if you don't

World's filled with many dirty old men

I met one, in a bar one day

Shouting across the counter

Words obscene enough to shrivel flowers

Many fainted on hearing him swear

He should be crowned a dirty old man

Did you hear the story

About Vinny from Kentucky

Took his friends for coffee

To a shop posher than the Ritz

He slunk into his plush seat

Sipping black coffee

In a manner very cocky

His speech smelt awfully

Too bad for the young ones

Their sensitive inside shriveling

On hearing his sly innuendos

More dirty than clean

They vowed to keep away

From such a dirty old man